


Center of the Universe

by orphan_account



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot, sex that's definitely happening but it's too disguised by florid language to really get flustered by
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:55:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24310081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Brian falls too deeply into conspiracies; Jack reminds him of what's important.
Relationships: Jack Gallagher/Brian Kendrick
Kudos: 5





	Center of the Universe

**Author's Note:**

> Kendrick talks about conspiracies in the most recent episode of the New Day podcast, at one point alluding to just how much he doubts everything up to the nature of reality itself. It struck me as a pretty crushing thing to think about, so here's some comforting to offset that.

“Focus, Kendrick.” Jack is insistent, hand resting lightly beneath Brian’s chin, urging their eyes to stay connected. “Focus on me.”

Brian obediently nods at nothing, swallowing and breathing, breathing hard.

Jack takes him so gently, settling over him as easily as a feather settles on the pond, and there’s scarcely a ripple in his expression. He’s calm, placid, light. Even for lovemaking, this is kind; kinder than Brian can ever remember receiving or even deserving in his life. The thought of what Jack is doing for him makes Brian nearly cry out—those pale fingers are pressed to his lips again, silencing him, bringing him back into the soft hum of the universe that surrounds them.

“Focus,” Jack again bids of the man lying supine below, facing stars, facing him.

Brian was born, if he could even be led to believe that much, only to doubt. It was only a peculiar habit on most occasions; the fun of contrarianism, of seeing the disapproving twist of Jack’s lips when Kendrick would suggest some absurdity about the shape of the earth (it was different on most occasions: flat, concave,a torrent of water running down the back of a cosmic duck) or the simulation of the universe. In Brian’s mind they could all be mobiles tinkling from a thread above. He used them as conversational playthings to jangle in front of whomever happened to be nearby. Their confusion only amused him.

To that end, then, Jack didn’t mind Kendrick toying with those notions around him. It made him smile. In Jack’s limited, earthbound view of reality (Brian often called him naïve), that was something of great importance.

Jack holds back a moan as he rocks back, settling fully onto Brian’s cock. Brian watches as Jack swallows his voice, throat pulsing as he does. He knows he could touch it, trace his fingers along it and feel it, warm and corporeal.

But Jack has a secure hold upon his hands in his own, clasped between them like a bridge between their bodies. He runs his thumb lightly over Brian’s knuckles, a touch as soft as the reassurance that Jack keeps murmuring through his own bliss.

 _“I am here,”_ he breathes, whispering right into Brian’s lips. _“I’m here.”_

Kendrick’s general inclination towards doubt didn’t tend to become a problem, then, until he began to untwist the threads of existence. The further he went, the less he knew; the more they unbraided, the less certain he became of anything. He wouldn’t stop until he was entangled by the strings that he could never quite find the answers to: the world he knew, the world that is, and himself. He could never understand; and what it was he despaired over not understanding, no one else could ever know.

He let slip to Jack, once, a notion that he’d had that perhaps all they were experiencing was illusory. As if all were inert dreams of stardust, waiting for a Big Bang that never came.

Of course, adding to his burden is that these suspicions could never be articulated properly. How could he ever tell someone that some days he secretly believes that there is no existence at all, that—somehow—every second spent on this Earth is just a misunderstanding of inputs, of light and sound emanating from an abyss?

Jack certainly doesn’t understand it. He can never understand the deep gnawing ache of lack of meaning, of being certain only of emptiness. He doesn’t know how Brian ever came to the conclusion that he—Jack, the only thing he’s ever loved enough to worry about his ephemerality—may not even be real.

All Jack knows is that Brian was falling apart tonight before he arrived, and now that he’s here, Kendrick needs to be reminded of his presence in the world.

“B-breathe,” Jack commands, almost as much of himself as of Brian. He’s choking up, somewhat; a product both of Kendrick’s thick, pulsing warmth inside of him, and of the unrestrained adoration in his eyes as he gazes up at Jack.

Jack shifts his hips to pump himself over Brian at a tighter angle. It results in an instantaneous moan from deep in Kendrick’s lungs, legs spasming up from his bed.

“Did you feel that?” Jack asks, barely steady. Brian nods in desperate agreement.

“Yes.”

“Does it feel good?”

“Y- _yes.”_ Brian’s voice cracks as Jack plunges, taking him once again. The bliss is so much that he almost diverts his worshipful eyes from Jack—but not quite; it’s too important, Jack insists, that Brian see him, hear him, touch him, know him.

Brian is more than willing, hands resting as tentatively and gently on Jack’s hips as to be reverent, as though he were a statue at the altar of a god. Even in the midst of sex, Brian is attempting to construct the universe. Jack is its center.

Staring into his eyes, Jack can tell when the stars in Brian’s vision become blinding, and he picks up his pace just for his pleasure until it’s too much and Brian is sobbing and filling him up. The warmth floods Jack and he feels as beautiful and wanted as the sun. Then he too is gone, crying out and emptying himself until he is left trembling and weak on Brian’s chest.

They allow the galaxy to spin aimlessly around them for a few minutes, breathing deeply, resting. Finally, Jack lifts his head, peering at Brian with those eyes that are somehow curious and all-knowing at once.

“N-now...did that feel real, to you, Kendrick—you bloody ridiculous man?”

Brian smiles hazily. He feels solid at last with Jack in his arms, warm, whole, present. Out of the darkness he sees a light, and for once, he sees no need to doubt it. He reaches out and runs his fingers through Jack’s hair—once coiffed, now short, messy, choppy. He’s changed so much, yet he’s still the one constant in Brian’s universe, and Brian suspects that he always will be.

“R-real,” he breathes out in agreement. “Very real.”


End file.
